#toy story cleric

[ericaportfolio]

Part 2 Progress of Ricky, Gordon, and the MFN gang that were tricked to come to this other abandoned studio in Hollywood to make an adventure movie that turns out to be the studio lots for the in-universe versions of The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth, The Shadow Sapphire and The Mystic Maze, that’s under the control of the Skeksis-like villains. This guy here is if you merge SkekSo from The Dark Crystal, and the Cleric from Toy Story That Time Forgot. Physical Drafting for the first panel is done so it can be done digitally!

[best-fictional-pterosaur]

Pterodactyls [Spamusement] vs. The Cleric [Toy Story]

Propaganda (if any) under the cut! Please be civil, and feel free to reblog!

Propaganda for Pterodactyls [Spamusement]:

None submitted.

Propaganda for The Cleric [Toy Story]:

None submitted.

[meli-writes]

Writing Masterpost (updated: 20/02/2025)

bio & expectations (for me) here.

welcome to my index of writing where i love vulnerable, intimate writing about kink, violence, and lesbians. stories sorted into categories and listed in recommended reading order, with word count so you can figure out reading time (avg 250/minute).

stories with sexual content marked with (18+), in bold if hardcore, stories with CWs marked with (CW), in bold if they're more serious (i.e explicit violence or sexual assault). unmarked stories may still be mature and contain violent or erotic material, but it should be light and non-intense.

all these works can also be found on ao3 <3

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Kayspace

sci-fi setting (inc. for my VN, dekaton date knight). weird technology and literal seas between the stars, with themes about bodily autonomy/consent (esp trans & disabled bodies), anarchist/statist conflict, decaying imperialism, and anti-colonialism.

Mistakes - 2.5K (18+)(CW) prologue. precarity and emotional labour of a space-station escort, the pirate who's got her on retainer, and the mistakes she can't help but keep making.

Bitch Devourer - 3.3K remnant cavalier gets caught by a rebel with a very misinformative callsign. Ch. 01 - 0.45K (18+) Ch. 02 - 0.9K (18+)(CW) Ch. 03 - 2.0K (18+)(CW)

Blood Sugar - 1.1K runaway sugar baby wakes up in a mech pilot medbay, with none of their own blood. Ch. 01 - 1.1K (18+)(CW) Ch. 02 - ???

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Monsters

usually urban fantasy w/ vampires, werewolves, and witches too. has my own rules for curses & magic to make things cuter and gayer. mostly setting for hunter's mark.

Long Time, No Shear - 5K a sheep-girl is desperate for someone to shear her for summer, and to not be weird about it. Ch. 01 - 3.2K Ch. 02 - 1.8K (CW)

Bitch-Princess of Toronto - 1.2K (18+) ezra caught a runaway vampire last week, and now she's sitting in her fellow werewolf's lap.

Blood Pressure - 1.5K (CW) defeated, closeted huntress gets enthralled & mommy'd by an ancient vampiress.

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Magical Girls

anything where girls get magic powers from space rocks and then get into various superhero/supervillain-based stories. might crossover with criminal stuff.

Little Miss Laser - 11.5K clueless biker-girl villain tries kidnapping the trans magical girl she's smitten with and it goes awkwardly wrong, finding out there's more to her than she thought. Ch. 01 - 4.7K (18+)(CW) Ch. 02 - 6.8K (18+)(CW) Ch. 03 - ???

House Bound - 1.5K ruby's stuck on house arrest duty for a villain, its ex, who won't stop trying to seduce it.

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Criminals

little girls in a big underworld w/ spies, thieves, smugglers, and more. sometimes magic, sometimes mundane.

Prescription - 2.0K (18+)(CW) thief who has to steal to get her meds, caught & punished by mommy mob boss.

Coffee? Vodka. - 1.4K a thief goes to their fence for something different than the usual toys. Ch. 01 - 1.1K Ch. 02 - 0.75K

Slipping Away - 1.5K exposed spy is waiting for her rival to come and kill her, but doesn't want to go. Ch. 01 - 0.35K (CW) Ch. 02 - 0.65K Ch. 03 - 0.55K (CW)

L'État, C'est Mecanisée - 0.95K the royal palace burns and its empress is chained to a clockwork operating table.

Le Loup Des Mers - 1.0K a pirate wakes up with an unexpected guest bound in her bed.

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Fantasy

usually lots of princesses and adventurers getting into trouble. maybe some angel/demon things, some monsters and others, cos it's a looser category.

Boar and the Lamb - 6.2K a hunter finds a chained-up girl in the snow, who is far from happy to be rescued. Ch. 01 - 1.5K Ch. 02 - 2.2K Ch. 03 - 1.1K Ch. 04 - 1.3K

Truth to be Dared - 7.1K whoever catches the faun gets the princess, so what if the princess does? Ch. 01 - 0.65K (18+)(CW) Ch. 02 - 1.4K (18+)(CW) Ch. 03 - 1.0K Ch. 04 - 1.6K (18+) Ch. 05 - 2.4K (18+)(CW) Ch. 06 - ???

Short Rest - 1.1K the barbarian cursed to forget and the cleric who is definitely just her roommate.

Consort - 1.1K a demon queen breaks her promise to a princess, and wreathes her neck in silver roses. Ch. 01 - 0.4K (18+)(CW) Ch. 02 - 0.7K (18+)(CW)

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Modern

professors and students, doctors and nurses, maids and anything else a little more down to earth.

Cupcakes - 1.2K (18+) waitress closing up has to deal with the asshole customer who came back to apologise.

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Science Fiction

mech pilots, starship pilots, and other space opera drama that doesn't fit into kayspace.

Mechismo - 4.3K a mech pilot works hard for her civilian 'shore-girl' and is owed some sweetness. No. 01 - 0.85K /// Shore-Girl No. 02 - 0.75K /// Declassified No. 03 - 1.0K (18+) /// Speak No. 04 - 0.75K /// Hit List No. 05 - 0.95K (CW) /// Abdication

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Fanfic

writing based on other's stories, works from tumblr or elsewhere. done for learning & self-indulgent fun.

Thirty-Six - 2.7K (18+)(CW) / +2.8K Original [1][2][3] by Caffeinated Otter a fixer teaches her captive thief a lesson, but which one will break first?

Leap Year - 0.55K (18+)(CW) epilogue to Thirty-Six. a cut-loose thief stills keeps in touch.

Roxanne - 3.9K / +0.55K Original by Caffeinated Otter a regrettable career in bounty hunting, a blahaj, and a fugitive tucked under a blanket. Ch. 01 - 1.9K Ch. 02 - 2.0K

Sex Pollen - 0.95K (18+) / +0.7K Original by Caffeinated Otter yvrette's cheating ex has the most embarrassing alien illness, can she forgive her?

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Essays

or rather extended posts expressing my thoughts that relate (usually) to writing or the topics i write about.

an erotic iconoclasm against patriarchal gender & sexuality dividing line between concept & story an ode to chosting every tumblr post about mecha doll as an expression of gender

[riddlesrose]

on the chest of another

w/ astarion

cw; none but maybe mild ooc astarion

hi yeah i haven't posted in 13 months my bad enjoy

He doesn't know the last time he felt truly comfortable with another living person, he’d been turned into a blood-thirsty vampire hundreds of years ago, he slowly learnt that the people he attempts to love will wither away while he stays put, same age, same face, though he can’t see it. Astarion watches the world change and reform around him while he retains memories of those he loved before they were either taken by the cold hands of death itself or he was forced to sacrifice them to his evil lord, Cazador. 

When he’d been taken, kidnapped, vampnapped off the streets of Baldur’s Gate, he’d never been so thankful, he was free, albeit trapped in a flying ship with aliens and other kidnapees, he was free from Cazador and the horrible treatment he’d endured for years upon years. He felt unrestricted until they threw him into a pod, then forcefully inserted an alien-type creature into his eye. He writhed in pain, attempting to free his arms, hands or legs to fight back, but it proved fruitless, he was stuck, and now, he had no idea what was going to happen to him. 

Astarion doesn’t know how long he’d been out, unconscious but before he could collect his thoughts, he realized that the flying ship he was, unfortunately, still on, was on fire, being actively attacked. 

After the ship had been knocked around a few times, set more on fire, he noticed a person, they were free, walking around like nothing was happening, or maybe looking for an exit, but they were definitely too far for anything to be heard had he banged on the front of his pod. That’s it, this is his end, he’ll probably just die when this ship inevitably crashes. Oh well, it’s a better outcome than being Cazador’s slave for the rest of his miserable life. 

Astarion stirred, feeling the sun warm his body, wait, the sun? He shot up, he should be turning to ash, he lifted his hands to check he really wasn’t chipping away in the sunlight. This has to be a cruel joke, Cazador or someone of his likes toying with him, teasing him with what he misses and has missed for the past 200 years. That and maybe his own reflection. But oh dear, how he’s missed the sun. The feeling, how it makes him feel, he feels happy, momentarily, until he remembers what just happened. First, getting kidnapped, then having some kind of tadpole inserted into his brain, now, he’s in the sun. What the hell. 

Then he also remembers the lone traveller that wandered free upon the ship, they’re probably around here somewhere, he better lure them out, question them. 

Many weeks passed by, Astarion ended up joining forces with the traveller he almost attacked, whom he learned goes by Tav, a Githyanki, a wizard, a cleric, a Tiefling, a druid and a warlock. He’d fought in many battles, some great, some his companions dragged him to, earned himself a few new friends, shared many stories with the camp, and shared his secret. The camp was very accepting of his condition, as long as he didn’t feed on an unwilling target. Tav was a dear on the night he almost starved, he’d gotten so hungry he thought he’d be able to sneak a quick bite without Tav noticing, guess guards were still too high and they noticed as soon as he got too close at night. After exposing himself on accident, Tav had offered a small amount of their blood to aid him. Now, it’s almost nightly he’ll go find Tav in their tent or bedroll and sate his hunger. Rats and boars just don’t tide him over anymore now that he has his own food source, willing food source. 

“Astarion?” Tav stirred, cracking their eyes, while searching for his. 

“Yes, my dear?” He hovered over them, looking as if he was going to feed but almost backing away this time. 

“I can feel you hesitating, why?” Tav had always been able to feel when he made his way into their tent for his needs, sometimes they woke but never pushed him away or forced him to take less than he needed. 

“Why, I am not! I am simply… going to wait for you to go back to sleep.” He looked proud with his excuse. 

“Lies. There’s another reason.” 

“There is not.”

“Yes there is.”

“No-”

“I’m not going to argue this, Astarion, is there something wrong?” 

He sighed, moved himself to sit by Tav’s legs and looked away, not bashfully, he was embarrassed. Tav sat up as well, but scooted closer to Astarion so he didn’t have to speak above a whisper if he did not see it fit.

“I feel greedy.” His demeanor of wit and confidence melted away as the bugs and frogs sang their night songs in the nearby pond. The night was cold, usually lonely, but he felt a sort of comfort with Tav that he hadn’t felt in years, he vowed to himself after he was turned that all mortals were never to be loved by him. They were going to die and he wasn’t. It wasn’t fair, he wanted to grow old with someone he loved deeply, he wanted more than to be someone’s pawn, a spawn of evil intent, born to do no good. 

Tav did not say anything, only tilting their head to the side with empathy shining in their eyes. 

“Now, I’m not asking for pity, dear, don’t give me that look.” 

“I know, I was simply allowing you to continue without interrupting, but look where we are.” 

“Cheeky. Fine,” He took a breath, thinking for a moment, “I haven’t been free of Cazador in two hundred years, I am unsure how to feel, how to live, frankly. I have been his slave, I’ve done his dirty work for as long as I can remember, I had no way out, I was underfed, mistreated, beaten, used, abused, everything you can think of darling, I experienced it under Cazador’s orders.” Sometime during his small rant you had moved closer, draping a blanket around his shoulders, and rested a hand on his shoulder, showing support without interrupting him. Astarion looked over to you with pain and sadness in his glossy red eyes. 

“Why don’t you stay for a while, you can leave before the sun comes up, no one has to know the witty and confident Astarion we all know stayed the night in another’s tent.” Tav proposed. They moved back onto the bedding they had tucked into the most private part of their tent, allowing him to follow if he chose to. He was not pressured, not forced, but given complete free will of his actions, something he still could not fully capture the grasp of because of his past. He thought on the choices he was proposed, 

“Only for a few minutes.” He decided since he doesn’t really sleep anyways, he’s an elf. He crept a few inches closer, unsure of where to go, Tav lied down and patted their chest, colour rose to Astarion’s pale cheeks, he was thankful it was dark. He took a few awkward seconds of staring at Tav before snapping out of his trance and shuffling back a few inches so his head could rest on their chest, he felt out of place, inconvenient, a burden to Tav’s sleeping. He was about to get up and thank Tav for their time before they brushed their hand through his messy curls and he stopped. His heart began beating a tad bit faster, he promised, no swore, that no mortal would make him feel this comfortable, loved, cared for, he knew what was inevitable… 

After many minutes, Tav could feel his breathing slow as they continued to rake their hand through his hair, untangling pieces every so often, they watched his eyelashes flutter before his breathing fell in tempo with their own. Tav guessed it had been a while since he’d felt comfortable, given his history and all. It was true, so for the first time in many, many years, Astarion fell asleep to the sound of a heart beating in the chest of another. 

masterlist

[demigoddessqueens]

👀 I saw prev ask about headcanons list w OC and VM and would love to put forth my own vox machina OC for a headcanons list with VM if that is okay!

She's a changeling who's a "spare child" noble who is never expected to inherit her parents title, so she runs away to be an adventurer as she feels ostracized from noble society. She's very mischievous and likes Percy because making him break his proper attitude with pranks is fun, and tries to sneak Trinket treats when she thinks Vex isn't looking. Her favorite form to take is one with long unruly hair that she uses as a stim toy braiding and unbraiding when bored or nervous.

of course you can!!

Masterlist 12

So, in terms of bonding, yeah Percy is one of the ones OC gets closer to because “opposites attract” 😆

Something tells me they’re also close with Keyleth, both going through their journeys of growth and self-identification.

The twins feel a protective kinship over OC, braiding each others hair as all three swap stories over leaving their “homes” that wounded them and where they traveled

The bard and cleric gnomes (plus Grog 💚) are the much needed persons to let the humor back into OC’s life and a healthy way to channel the negative feelings that were part of their life before.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dear Dapper - you're so great at helping me think through ideas and creative blocks, and you have such great thoughts about DnD religions, so I hope this question is perfect for you. (Forgive the length, feel free to trim in any posting).

Our campaign is set in a world where the gods found some "clay" and sculpted a world out of it. Most of the various plots stem from the earliest, most powerful creations having various emotions about this act (resentment and reformation, jealousy, an overextended sense of ownership, or feeling they can redo it better). In the past, the sense of resentment led to a war where the traditional, but respected, judge-like, ferryman-style psychopomp god of death was killed. He now exists as a partial remnant, God of Undeath - the dark moon. The other gods then fled, abandoning creation.

My character started as a cleric of the light moon goddess, and as perhaps the most mythologically invested player, I've been expanding to become pan-theistic - trying to round up what remains of divine power into beneficent hands (ie, against the bbeg). In a recent story arc, a part of his soul was stolen, then given freely to this God of Undeath.

The God's angry (presumably about being killed - the how is an upcoming plot point). He's viewed as asleep, and wants to 'wake' the living world into undeath. His worshippers are secretive necromancers and the undead. Otherwise his themes so far are generally gothy, macabre and evil.

I think my character's desire is to try to restore him in some way, or at least, 'wake' him into some element of his former neutral/benevolent self. As a player, I want to toy with the scary, gothiness of this change, and dance with temptation a bit. As both, I want to find some good or positive elements to the Undeath angle that I can spin.

What ideas does this generate for you? In particular, what are some positives from undeath that I could play with? Why would a normal living wizard fall into the necromantic worship of this 'deity' (other than the selfish desire for immortality as a lich or vampire)?

Thanks for any thoughts you might have!

Fundamentally any depiction of the undead are really a portrayal of our relationship TO death, and the many reactions we can have regarding it's suddenness, tragedy, and inevitability.

A god that's angry about their own inevitable demise strikes me as one that's stuck mid way through the seven stages of grief, a state not unlike undeath because it leaves those trapped in it unable to move on. Cultists might think they're gaining immortality through undeath but really they're trapping themselves in bereaved stasis.

The ultimate resolution then is taking steps toward catharsis and acceptance, of letting go, and coming to terms with the loss as a form of exorcism. Perhaps your character also had a significant death in their life and had trouble moving on, and wants to give this god the same hardwon peace they finally achieved, or achieve it by working things out through this god.

I find it interesting that "gothy" is a term that's brought up multiple times in your description, because one of the big parts about goth subculture (other than a kickass music scene) is a philosophy that asks us to not shy away from the fear of death but instead look at it head on, unpleasant as it is, and say " I embrace you and in doing so I acknowledge how great life really is"

[abysskeeper]

Trying to figure out some characterization on the latest Tav. Word vomited whatever this is. Idk.

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“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

Shit.

Astarion froze, the words brushing against the edges of his mind like the caress of a cool breeze against his face. His jaw clenched against the feeling of the bloody parasite wriggling behind his eye and he whipped around, searching for the woman who evaded his senses. He was so, damned sure everyone else had retired for the night, how had he missed her?

But sure enough, as his eyes scoured the camp in search of her, there she was, emerging from the shadows at the very edge of camp, small prayer book in hand. Blazing orange eyes met his, the color the leaves around them would turn in a few months, when the weather grew cooler still and winter approached. A fool would call them beautiful—the wizard had called them striking earlier that day—but Astarion knew better. Those eyes were the color of loss, the last warning before death inevitably claimed its rightful due.

Those eyes were as somber and bitterly determined as the God she prayed to.

Admittedly, Astarion wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. He hadn’t factored in for anyone discovering him before he claimed his victim, only what he would do when said victim inevitably awoke from his bite. She stood too far from him to be able to pivot and strike at her without giving her considerable time to react to him, and he couldn’t just delve for her sister trancing at his feet either. He had no desire to incite the holy magic of any cleric, let alone one devoted to the God who would take the most offense towards his existence.

His options were limited, and though he was loathe to concede to it, his best chance was to react instead of act. Perhaps he could talk some of his way out—no one knew what he was yet and, given his current stance, it would be just as easy to believe he was stealing from Rin as he was about to suck her dry. He could apologize for attempting and make up some excuse about how he needed the money, a sob story would probably work on Vira, and even if it didn’t, it was better than the alternative. And, if she did attack, then at least it would be easier to play the victim.

“Unless, of course, you wish to feel what it is like to have an electrified fist gripping your throat.”

She continued before he could say a word. Vira smiled—the smallest of upturns of the left side of her mouth—and tilted her head, strands of white hair slipping over her shoulder and neck with the movement. “I understand her being a sorcerer makes it seem she is an easy target, but I assure you her size is not an illusion. I can also assure you it is by no means a pleasant experience to startle her.”

Astarion frowned, eyes darting down to the other drow still trancing peacefully by his feet. He had considered Rin’s build when choosing her as his victim but, given everyone else in the camp and their specialties, she still wound up being the safest option in his mind. Perhaps he had misjudged. Perhaps Vira was merely toying with him. Perhaps it was both. He released a small sigh and returned his attention to Vira, realizing his misstep in ever taking his eyes from her in the first place.

Much to his surprise, she hadn’t moved from the edges of camp. It was a small mercy.

It also appeared to be in his best interest to attempt to talk himself out of this situation. He would downplay it considerably, and maybe grovel a bit. “I am quite good at what I do, you know. She wouldn’t have even felt me stealing—”

“Stealing?!” Vira’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. “I suppose it is, in a sense, but I’ll stop you before you make a fool of yourself. Come, I can grant you what you need.” With that said, she motioned her head towards the woods she had just come from and turned around, receding back into them.

Astarion hesitated, watching as she disappeared into the tree line. Had she just implied…? And, surely if she had, she hadn’t just left her sister to him, right? If she had figured him out, then she wasn’t a fool, but if she had just turned her back on him and left Rin trancing peacefully at his feet then he couldn’t imagine her as anything else.

But no…no, she was still paying attention to him. He could still feel the parasitic connection faintly in his mind. She was watching him, waiting, likely wondering which option he would choose. He could still go for Rin, and Vira was far enough away now that he could likely get enough blood from the sorcerer to have a quick burst of energy to fend off any attacks. If Vira was bluffing and Dezerin didn’t immediately awaken and attempt to kill him for the intrusion, in any case. If Vira was speaking the truth, then the correct option was obvious.

Yet, the “correct” option did not feel much safer. If Vira had truly figured him out and what he needed, then she was either as much of a kind-hearted fool as he already believed, an over-confident idiot who thought she could handle herself alone against a starving spawn in the woods, or a woman with a plan. And what would it make him, exactly, if he followed the invitation of a cleric of Kelemvor into the woods actually expecting her to keep her word about offering him what he needed?

Desperate.

He would claim intrigue won out in the end. There were a lot of questions he held regarding her decisions, and if he followed her, perhaps she would even consider it appropriate to answer some. That was, assuming she did keep her word and did not immediately try to kill him, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He had no reason to believe she was lying about Rin, and if he were forced to consider that true, then he had no reason to believe she was lying about her word.

Still, Astarion stepped away from the resting party members quietly, and followed after Vira cautiously. He walked through the woods carefully, hand hovering over one of his daggers as his eyes darted around him, half-expecting the bladed end of a sword or a burst of holy magic to come flying at his head. When he moved further into the woods, he finally found her sitting calmly on the trunk of a fallen tree, flipping through her prayer book.

He was struck frozen again as her orange eyes turned from the pages to him, and her faint smile returned. “I see you chose the correct option,” Vira remarked.

“I had no idea there was an incorrect option.” The words came from him easily, even as his mind remained hypervigilant as ever. He watched her, waiting for even the slightest change in expression or twitch in her body to suggest she was on the verge of striking. “Are you testing me, Tav?”

Her smile fell at the use of her improper nickname. She had insisted half a dozen times not to be called by the first part of her given name already. He had figured correctly it was a decent way to throw her off, even if just slightly.

“It is not so much a test as a matter of your safety,” she answered, “Though I suppose my intent was not entirely without curious examination. I was interested to know who you chose; I am glad you chose properly.”

“Given the current atmosphere, you hardly feel like the proper choice, darling,” he quipped.

Her smile returned, both sides of her lips lifting as her eyes narrowed at him. He recognized that expression for what it was, he had worn it and smoothed it out a thousand times in the past two-hundred years.

Predator.

“Are you nervous, Astarion?” Vira asked simply.

“Nervous around you? You flatter yourself,” Astarion laughed. He knew better than to give an inch towards someone like her, which also meant he knew better than to concede the truth before she forced it from him. “Rightly cautious, however, would be accurate. You did just invite me into the woods alone after catching me attempting to steal from—”

“Ah yes. ‘Stealing,’” she cut him off again, just as she had with the tadpole. She tilted her head, “Is that how you refer to it?”

He frowned and placed a hand on his hip, indignant. “I haven’t the faintest what you’re otherwise trying to imply.”

“It’s just not the terminology I thought vampires used these days,” she shrugged easily. “I thought you still referred to it as feeding.”

She was bold to outright say it, he’d give her that. Still, his mouth went slack in well-practiced offense. “What in the Nine Hells—”

“Astarion,” she deadpanned, stopping him before he could even begin his rant. Her eyes all but verbally asked if they were really going to go down this road. “You aren’t exactly subtle. Between the red eyes, the pale skin, and the bite wounds on your neck you’ve done nothing to conceal, it is rather obvious,” Vira said, lifting a finger to point towards his neck. “To your credit, you are better with your fangs. You hide them well when speaking, but they’re not invisible.”

He deflated some, arms going slack at his sides while the remainder of his counterargument left him. He already determined he wouldn’t—couldn’t—deny it if she called him on it properly, and of course she did exactly that. The only thing he could get a read on and potentially control was how exactly she intended to respond to the revelation. She was surprisingly calm—far too calm about his predicament for him to trust her with the truth.

“That aside, everyone in the clergy has the innate ability to detect any undead in a certain radius around them,” she added and smirked, “It is, quite frankly, impossible for me to not notice you, and has been since we first met.”

“How charming that I’ve had your attention from the start, darling,” Astarion retorted. Slowly, his hand inched towards the dagger on his belt as he kept all of his senses focused on her. “And what, exactly, do you intend to do with that information?” he asked carefully.

Her eyes flickered to his hand and then back up to meet his gaze. “Probably less than I should, but also exactly as I said,” Vira answered. “You need blood, do you not?”

“As every vampire does,” Astarion said. He was certainly not letting her in on how dire his situation was. “And you are just…offering yourself?” he asked, unable to prevent the derisive snort he let out.

Vira shrugged again, looking down at herself and then back to him. “I suppose I am, yes,” she agreed.

He shook his head in disbelief. She was a bold one indeed. “Do you take me for a fool, Tavira?” he asked, nearly hissing. “Why would I trust you? A Kelemvorite cleric, of all things?”

“You shouldn’t,” she agreed again with a nod. “But I haven’t attacked you yet. And I am the best option for what you need now,” she shrugged. When he made no move towards her, she sighed and held out her arm towards him. “Consider it a peace offering,” she said with her small smile, “I have noticed how carefully you tread around me, and I’m sure you have noticed how on edge I am around you. This is a show of good faith, I won’t harm you. I am trusting you not to harm me, nor take anyone else from camp.”

Astarion eyed her outstretched arm. Her dusky skin glowed in the patches of moonlight filtering in through the trees, but he was barely able to focus on anything else other than the faint sound and miniscule flutter of her pulse in her wrist. She was absolutely correct in her observations, but he could still feel trepidation pumping in his veins. This was not a normal reaction towards his kind, especially not from someone of her clergy.

“Isn’t your church dedicated to hunting and eradicating my kind?” he asked, red eyes flicking back up to meet hers. “Is that not one of your core tenets?”

“It could be worse, I could be Lathanderian,” Vira joked, a wry smirk crossing her face. As quickly as it appeared, her smile fell, and she glanced away, staring out into the dark woods. “It is, I suppose, but in truth, I am not keen on waging wars with allies. I…have had enough of that for a lifetime.”

She said it softly, more as though she were talking to the darkness around them than she was to him. It felt as though that was an admittance he should not have heard, but when she returned her gaze to him, her orange eyes were momentarily weighted with a sort of melancholy. She blinked and it was gone, her gaze settling back into her usual, solemn calm.

“I made my decision a few nights ago,” Vira added, “Lord Death has not yet abandoned me for it, so I suspect that it is fine.”

She was being genuine about this. Astarion wasn’t sure why she was willing, but as his anxiety settled and he eyed her arm again, he decided it didn’t really matter. He was not one to turn his nose up at an opportunity, and he wouldn’t deny she was a kind-hearted fool for granting him this one. Perhaps that was all there was to it, and if it was truly as simple as that, perhaps he could push for more.

His eyes traveled from her wrist up her arm and to the exposed part of her collarbone. His gaze settled for a moment on her neck, watching the stronger pulse of her heartbeat with thinly veiled desire, before he met her eyes. “If that is what you decided, I would not decline. However, your neck would be far more suitable and far quicker for both of us. It would harm you less—”

Vira’s snort cut him off. “I am probably being far kinder than I should, but I am not a fool, Astarion,” she remarked.

His eyes narrowed. “I thought this was a sign of trust,” he retorted.

“It is, and I have reason to believe you would not take more than necessary if you are contained within the proper boundaries,” Vira explained, “But I have no reason to believe you would not drain me dry if I did not maintain those boundaries.”

She looked over him for a moment before sighing, the hand at her side moving to grip at the hem of her shirt. “Just as you have reason to believe I will hold up my end of the offer,” she continued and lifted her shirt some to reveal the wooden body of a stake tucked into the waistband of her pants, “But no reason to believe I would not stake you if you moved closer than I liked.”

Ah, mutual assurance, he understood that well enough and her point was well taken. He probably should have been concerned she was only now revealing she had a stake on her person, but if it weren’t for the fact she was denying him—and denying him correctly—Astarion would have smirked. Perhaps she had more guile than he initially credited her with. She was still offering at least, and he still needed to feed. These weren’t the worst terms he had operated under by far.

“Very well,” Astarion nodded in agreement.

He finally walked over to her and stopped in front of her outstretched hand. He took her wrist into his palm and raised it towards his mouth. Even without it being his preferred method, the clearer sound of her pulse pounding in her wrist and the faintest smell of her blood pumping beneath her skin had him salivating. To her credit, and to his surprise, her heartbeat remained steady, even as he lowered his mouth to her skin and pierced his fangs into her vein.

And if he happened to bite harder than necessary, if he happened to move his fangs to roll her vein and dig them deeper than he needed just to prove a point that the wrist hurt more than the neck, Vira made no movement to show any discomfort. Her gaze remained fixated on him, steady, calm orange eyes watching him with the slightest hint of curiosity. And in truth, any lingering pettiness he felt dissipated the moment the sweet tang of her blood hit his tongue.

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | forest // ninety-five

END OF CHAPTER POLL | Vote for your favorite contestants, you may choose up to three. We’ve reached the end of chapter four. Since we’re well into the story now, please keep in mind, the results of this poll will have enormous impact on the story, so choose wisely. Entrants may vote for their own characters.  Vote now!

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HIGH PRIESTESS: Solana tells me the curse has been broken. How are you… feeling? KYRIE: I’m fine. What is this about? HIGH PRIESTESS: I told you afterwards we would find some way to proceed and I have done so. This is Elion Maharis. Formerly a member of the Elune Order. As of today, he’s been assigned to your personal guard. KYRIE: You’re hiring an assassin as my bodyguard? The irony is incredible. HIGH PRIESTESS: I hardly think anyone more suitable to protect you than someone with his skillset. KYRIE: I asked you not to do this. HIGH PRIESTESS: You asked for my trust. And then broke it. Again. That’s beside the point now. We must do this, for your safety. Please, Kyrie. Don’t fight me on this. KYRIE: Why do you keep saying “please”? You’ve never asked for my permission before. Why are you acting so strange? HIGH PRIESTESS: I— KYRIE: You know something, don’t you? This is about Al. Is she— HIGH PRIESTESS: Calm down. Alphanei is alive— KYRIE: Alive? How do you know? Have they found her? Where is she? HIGH PRIESTESS: Not here. I received a letter— KYRIE: A letter? From her? Can’t I read it— HIGH PRIESTESS: No! No. You need to focus on your duties, and improving your health. KYRIE: But why— HIGH PRIESTESS: Enough! You may go. Elion. ELION: Yes, My Lady. KYRIE: What an unfortunate change of pace for you. From special operations to babysitter. ELION: I’m more than happy with my position, Your Grace. Given you cooperate, the two of us could get on famously. KYRIE: I suppose that depends entirely on you. I don’t need Elora’s trained dog biting at my heels. ELION: I wouldn’t worry about that. Though, at the end of the day, it’s not really your choice, is it? You moon brats are a special breed of vulnerable. Though, you do have your... talents, don’t you, Your Grace? And even that has its drawbacks. I wonder, what will your darling mother think when she finds out you’ve been toying with the head cleric’s thoughts? KYRIE: How do you know about that? ELION: You’re my charge. It’s my job to know everything about you now. I could… intervene in that problem, if you’d like? Make it “go away”, so to speak. KYRIE: I’m not interested in violent solutions. ELION: Violence? Now, now. I’m a very diplomatic person. Don’t be quick to judge, my lord. KYRIE: And… what would you want in exchange for that service? ELION: I told you. Simply your cooperation. I’d appreciate you not making my job any harder than it need be. We’ll be spending a lot of time together from here on out. It’s best we build some trust, no? KYRIE: I suppose we should. ELION: Excellent. Then, by all means, lead the way, Your Grace. Consider me but a shadow. KYRIE: I doubt I’ll get used to that. ELION: Everything in due time, Dear Moon.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Scouring a Q&A archive for realmslore, as I am wont to do, and seeing people being semi-officially (officially?) directed to Lords of Darkness when they ask about Realms-specific undead lore even in the 5e era is amusing, and also validating (I love that book. I love how creating tomb guardians/mummies works in the Realms: it's so fucked up. I love the Bhaalist mummy and his relationship problems. I want my Bhaalist to get mummified.)

But anyway the concept that that lore holds in 5e Toril is darkly hilarious to me for reasons, because you'd be applying this to BG3:

Greater and Lesser vampires: Toril does in fact have rare daylight walking vampires! They're created when a succubus kills you by kissing you (ie draining your life force and consuming your soul during make out sessions/sex) and then your corpse rises again as a soulless undead horror that can walk in sunlight. Other than the daywalking a greater vampire is exactly like a normal vampire.

And I'm just... You can get your soul eaten by a fiend in game: can you imagine Astarion's reaction if - after being dumb enough to get fucked to death by Haarlep I know they don't kill you in-game, humour me - you came back as a vampire able to walk in the sun right off the bat? Either he's going to be insanely envious (why do you get everything he wants through an act of terminal stupidity), or he's going to be extremely put out that he isn't special. "There are no vampires like me" Are you sure babe? Bet?

Also as far as Toril is concerned with undeath in its own setting: undeath is evil, as are all of it's sources and all acts of inflicting it upon somebody (except for Baelnorn), but the undead are people and a bit more complicated. Not necessarily terribly nice people, who are monsters and sometimes have to do horrible things due to their nature, but they have control of their actions do damage control and decide not to be total bastards. (Most are total bastards). There are folk stories and legends of protective ancestors and helpful undead, and some undead hunters are wont to let "sleeping undead lie" if they're not bothering anyone. Interestingly I also saw something today that some undead hunting is actually done by undead, who don't appreciate other, less pragmatic and/or morally inclined undead being more evil and destructive than they need to be ("‘nuisance’ undead") and risking encouraging hatred/fear of the undead and angry mobs amongst the living: do you mind, some of us are trying to unlive in relative peace here. How is a Lich supposed to study with clerics breaking down their door, you animals?? Different source again, but D&D's token "good" vampire is a Torilian native (and by "good" I mean Chaotic Neutral and messy, and currently being warped and tormented by the Dark Powers of Ravenloft who enjoy a good chew toy). Toril does have another "good" vampire in official material, but he's been cursed to be Lawful Good and would explicitly go back to being a monster if you lifted that curse, so methinks he doth not count.

[best-fictional-pterosaur]

The Cleric [Toy Story] vs. Old White Dactyl [Raptor Red]

Propaganda (if any) under the cut! Please be civil, and feel free to reblog!

Propaganda for The Cleric [Toy Story]:

None submitted.

Propaganda for Old White Dactyl [Raptor Red]:

None submitted.

[leatafandom]

Cleaning Out the Closet

Fandom/Ship: SPN - Sabriel - Sam Winchester/Gabriel 

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,942

Warnings and Tags: established relationship, Priest Kink, rim job, kissing, lube as spit, discovering kinks, orgasm delay, anal sex, anal fingering, ass to mouth, bottom Sam/top Gabriel, rough sex, sex toys, praise kink, dirty talk, embarrassment kink, hair pulling kink

Summary: The archangel always enjoyed sorting through the bunker's inventory with Sam, and couldn't refuse his curiosity at the chance to dig through the Winchester’s things when Sam said he was cleaning out his closet. 

Written for @spnkinkevents 12 Days of Kinkmas Prompt: Priest Kink

Author Note: I don’t know, man. At first, I thought it would be hilarious, and then it just got hot.

Read a snippet from, Cleaning Out the Closet, Rated Explicit, below or in full on my Ao3.

*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 users.

Cleaning Out the Closet

“Sam? What… What is this?” 

Sam turned at the archangel's pitched question. When he saw the black shirt and clerical collar he'd used more times than he'd like on hunts, he scrambled for it. A scoff of shock left him when his hands gripped air instead of fabric, the archangel disappearing. 

“I'm not judging.” 

Sam spun around, finding Gabriel sitting on his bed, still looking at the black shirt and white collar. 

“It's not like that. We use them for hunts,” he defended. 

“...shame,” Gabriel said after a moment, eyes focused on it before looking back at the brunette. 

“What?” The brunette's brows raised, shifting where he was standing by his desk at the celestial's evaluating stare. “Don't tell me you have a priest kink?” His arms crossed over his chest, feeling Gabriel dressing and undressing him with his eyes. 

“Never really thought about it,” his voice was distracted, and his gaze was still roaming over Sam. “But I am now…” His voice trailed off, eyes landing on Sam's parted lips and raised eyebrows. “Does it still fit?” He asked, looking back at the black shirt and collar. 

“Probably?” Sam's lips drew into a line, thinking about it as he scratched the back of his neck. “But it's always been tight,” he said with a shrug.

The groan Gabriel released was both pornographic and pained. “Of course it is,” the archangel huffed, looking at the outfit before putting it down. 

Sam looked between his partner and the clerical collar. His head tilted, considering the longing look in the other's gaze. 

“You really wanna see me in it that badly?” 

“Yes.” Gabriel's fingers flicked at the collar. “Can I?” He asked, hand raising, prepared to snap.

Sam looked over Gabriel's open expression, the archangel obviously trying to push down his excitement. The brunette weighed his feelings before nodding. “Yeah,” he said finally, shoulders rolling. “Go ahead,” Sam agreed with a sure nod, appreciating Gabriel asking before the archangel snapped his fingers. “What do you think?” He asked as he looked down at the feeling of different fabric against his skin, the collar still feeling like it was choking him every time he wore it. “Is it what you hoped for?” He asked, messing with his hair and rolling his eyes at the lack of underwear beneath the black slacks, before looking back at the shorter entity.

Gabriel had turned completely toward Sam on the bed, feet planted on the bed and back straight, completely focused on the hunter. “Yes,” he said, his lip catching between his teeth. “That shouldn't look so good on you.”

Continue Reading on my Ao3

[tea-with-eleni]

Do not forgive me.

From Ludmilla's point of view, to Ireena. My players, you currently know about as much as Ireena, so this has some spoilers under the cut about Volenta's backstory. You have been warned. Others, this is mostly not-exactly-canon stuff of my own invention. Steal it if you want, though.

I owe you the truth, dear one. You are determined to believe I am better than my husband. I am honored by your trust, but I cannot accept it. Not until you know the full extent of who and what I am… and what I have done. I am not good. I am not you.

You have forgiven me thus far because you have not known the extent of my actions.

Dear Ireena, Volenta did not tell you everything. She told you what she feels are the important parts of her story. Please remember, however, that Volenta is dead. Volenta Popofsky died about three centuries ago. The person who told you her story is what Strahd and I made out of that poor dead girl. I love her, and I am quite certain that she would not condemn me, but death changed her. Our curse changed her. The girl she was did not want this existence.

Volenta was, in life, a cleric, I think. I do not know which god or goddess she served. She never said. I doubt the names would mean much to you or to me, at any rate. We’re from different worlds. Different worlds have different gods. That was the problem. Her god does not exist in Barovia. Have you noticed? I am not sure there are gods in Barovia.

People in Barovia, like you, like the saint whose bones hallow the Vallakian church, can be good. People can be holy. I am less certain of gods. I know that there are no good gods, at any rate. Are the dark powers sealed inside that forsaken temple gods? They might be. They certainly seem inclined to act the part. Volenta learned this all too well. It was upsetting enough to realize that her god was gone and she may never experience them again. It was infinitely worse, I think, when she realized that Vampyr was the one accepting her prayers in her god’s stead.

The realization drove her to despair. I gathered that Vampyr tried to claim her for itself, likely through a similar bargain to the one it offered my husband. Volenta did not want to accept its bargain, but she did not know how long she could resist.

She tried to trick it. She offered it service, but she sought her own death instead. I believe she wanted to try to kill me or my husband in the process, so that she could at least die a martyr. She had her own loved ones to protect.

That is the girl who arrived at Castle Ravenloft. Do not picture the Volenta you know. Picture, instead, a broken girl whose faith in her god and herself was utterly shattered. She was not well. She was not fully coherent. She could not even follow through on her plan to die fighting. She knelt in the Ravenloft courtyard and begged my husband to kill her.

I do not think Volenta knows what Strahd initially wished to do with her. He was willing enough to grant her wish, yes, but I know how he thinks. I know how he toys with the outsiders who think to invade his lands and slay the vampire. Dear Ireena, he intended to turn her into spawn and order her to attack her party. It did not matter to him who won that encounter; either a spawn he neither knew nor cared about would die and demoralize her party, or she would triumph and rid him of a nuisance in the process.

She told you what happened instead. I was not kind. I did not let her truly die, as she wished. I persuaded Strahd to grant her true vampirism instead. I argued that we needed to understand the curse better, since he would want you forever by his side, as yourself rather than as his slave. Strahd agreed. We drained Volenta to the point of death. She drank from us in turn. She accepted the curse. Strahd left her with little choice.

She was not the same as she was before. The curse severed her permanently from her former divine gifts. The girl who came to us would have been distraught. The remade Volenta did not seem to mind. She seemed grateful, even joyous, in her rebirth. Vampyr was her new patron, and now she accepted it gladly. You have seen her use its dark gifts.

Her party found her eventually, of course. She did not mention to you that their number included her sister and her betrothed. It matters little to her now. She slaughtered and drained them all. She was not upset by the deaths. She knew that she ought to be, I think, but she still does not seem to feel regret or remorse. Volenta may not be capable of feeling those things. Those emotions seemed to die with the girl she was before.

My dear Ireena, I love Volenta. I am selfish enough that I would condemn her party a thousand times to keep her in this world. She enjoys her existence more often than not; she cannot feel the pain my selfishness and the resulting deaths should have caused. She cannot judge me. You can, and should. Of course, there is still more.

I know that you loved Vaclav Vallakovich once, lifetimes ago. I heard Strahd condemn the man for daring to love you. I may not have recognized him when Doru Donovich came with the mage’s rebellion, but it makes little difference in the end. I did not think. I was too angry to take care. I made him into spawn. Ireena, I am sorry. I have apologized to him. I owe you the same apology. I know better than anyone else in Barovia how inadequate that is. I know what I have condemned him to. I have forced both of you into a terrible situation — both of you, but especially him. A spawn is a slave. If he never sees me again, never hears an order from me, if I ignore him utterly, he will have a semblance of freedom. It is not true freedom. It never will be while I endure. We are connected, and I can pull on that connection — those puppet strings, please understand — at any time. I have tried to let him believe that there is safety in distance. Please add lying to my list of crimes. It is the least I can do.

I was Strahd’s spawn, Ireena. He is an intelligent man and prone to experimentation. I have said before that it is better to be dead than spawn. A vampire controls, or can control, their spawn completely on a physical level. No enchanter’s magic is so complete, nor so irresistible. You know as well as I that my kind are naturally enthralling. You know that effect can be resisted. Spawn cannot resist their creator. The bond is deeper than magic and far more cruel. I inflicted it on a man you once loved. I dare not free him, since that may well kill some essential part of his nature. I dare not free him, because I do not know what he would become.

I am a hypocrite. Despite my experience, I made the spawn for the feast of St Andral. I will only say, in my defense, that we made them from the condemned. We did not order them to kill, only to create chaos. It’s a pathetic argument: I knew they would kill and could not control their thirst. At the time, I did not care. I needed to convince you that Vallaki was no safe haven. I needed to see you.

You knew Vallaki was unsafe without my help. You recognized Vasili. I did not need to do anything. Do not forget what I have done.

I am grateful beyond words that you have chosen to accept my protection. I will give you everything I am capable of giving. You deserve better than Barovia. You deserve better than me. I am as much of a monster as any of my kind. I try to pretend otherwise, but do not forget or forgive my actions.

You should not trust me, dear Ireena. You do not know what parts of me are missing. I don’t know myself, and none remain who could tell me who I was. You are alive and whole, no thanks to me.

You owe me nothing.

[lgbtqiamuslimpedia]

Maryam Khatoon Molkara

DOB :1950

Known for :Iran's first Trans muslim woman who successfully change her gender legally.

Occupation :Trans Activist,Rights Advocate

Spouce :Mohammad

Religion :Islam

Gender :Woman

Sexuality :Straight

Ethnicity :Persian

Death :2012

Maryam Khatoon Molkara (also known as Maryam Khatoonpour Molkara) was a campaigner for trans rights in Iran, where she is widely recognized as a matriarch of the transgender community.She was later instrumental in obtaining a letter which acted as a Fatwa enabling sex reassignment surgery to exist as part of a legal framework.

Early life

Maryam Khatoon Molkara was born in 1950, she was the only child of her father's second of eight wives.Her father was a landowner. Maryam says she always preferred clothes, toys, & activities that were traditionally for girls.In her adolescence, Maryam went to parties dressed as a woman.She was often tortured & bullied for her feminine behavior. When she came out to her mother,her mother refused to accept Maryam's gender identity.This made her decide to take feminizing hormone, instead of immediately seeking out a gender affirming surgery.

Legal Recognition of Gender Identity in Iran

In 1975, Molkara traveled to London where she “learned about transsexuality & realized that she was not a passive homosexual. Molkara started to write letters to Shia Cleric Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, then in exile in Iraq, asking for religious advice about being assigned the wrong gender at birth.In one of these letters, she said that her gender identity had been clear since she was two years old, as she used to apply chalk to her face to imitate putting on make-up. Khomeini had already written in 1963 that corrective surgeries for intersex people are not against Islamic law, & his answer was based on this existing idea rather than developing a new fatwa for transgender people.He suggested she live as a woman, which included dressing as one.

After this, she met with Farah Pahlavi, who gave her support towards Molkara and other transgender individuals wanting sex reassignment surgery.In 1978, she traveled to Paris, where Khomeini was then based, to try to make him aware about transgender rights.After the Islamic Revolution, Molkara started to face intense backlash due to her gender identity. She underwent arrests, and death threats. She was fired from her job at the Iranian National Radio and Television, forced to wear masculine clothing,injected with male hormones against her will, & detained in a psychiatric institution. Eventually she was released from jail because of her good contacts with religious leaders, such as Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani.

Molkara continued to campaign for her right to get gender-affirming surgery. In 1985, she confronted Khomeini in his home in North Tehran.She wore a man's suit, carried the Quran, and she tied shoes around her neck. This was a reference to the Ashura festival, and also indicated that she was looking for refuge.Maryam Khatoon Molkara was held back and beaten by homophobic security guards until Khomeini's brother Hassan Pasandide intervened.He took Molkara into his house, where she pleaded her case, yelling "I'm a woman, I'm a woman!" His security guards were suspicious about her chest, as they thought she could be carrying explosives.She revealed they were her breasts, as she developed them using hormone therapy.After listening her story, Ahmad Khomeini was touched & took Maryam to speak to his father, where he asked 3 of his doctors about the surgery in an attempt to make a well-informed decision.Khomeini then decided to permit sex reassignment surgery by issuing a fatwa.She left Khomeini’s house victoriously. She had a letter in her hand addressed to the Chief Prosecutor & the head of Medical Ethics giving a fatwa (a religious authorization) for her & for all those like her to have their gender surgically reassigned. That one daring step by Maryam changed the dynamics and made history in Shia Islam.

Maryam lobbied for the according medical knowledge & procedures to be implemented in Iran, and worked on helping other trans people have access to gender-affirmative surgeries.

However, Maryam completed her gender affirming surgery from Thailand in 1997, due to "unhappiness with procedures in her native country''.The Iranian govt paid for her surgery, and she was able to help establish government funding for many other trans individual's surgeries.

Trans Rights Adocacy

Maryam was a prominent advocate for trans rights & gender affirmative care.Maryam started her activism in Iran during the early days of the Islamic revolution.

In 2007, she founded and subsequently ran the Iranian Society to Support Individuals with Gender Identity Disorder (Persian: حمایت از بیماران مبتلا به اختلالات هویت جنسی ایران).This was the first state-approved transgender organization in Iran.Before this, she used her own property in Karaj to help other trans people receive legal advice & medical care, including post-op care.She continued her fight to advance the situation of transgender people in Iran.She also helped many incarcerated trans people in Iran.

Marriage

Maryam got married in a traditional Islamic way (nikah) to a government officer named Mohammad, in Tehran.

Death

Maryam Khatoon Molkara died in 2012, after suffering from a heart attack at the age of 62.

[nonegenderleftmasc]

hihi reed hihi :D

im not sure if i should send this to atd bc its not warrior cats but

im thinking of a dnd story focused on grief and the importance of compassion

im struggling to come up with actual plot ideas though....

i do have 4 mcs ready to go!!!

Claude Hopsiefoot / Calico Critter Toy - Rogue/Artificer a toy brought to life who is two sauces tall and is an ASSHOLE

El Dratch / Human - Warlock a scared child that hears the gods

Freddy Vubar / Human? - Barbarian a dad who does not want to be here but is here anyways

Hyacinth Whispers / Bear/Reindeer Hybrid - Cleric a cleric who fucking hates her job

i love them v much theyre v silly

YO YO YO I love DND!! I only got to play a Lil back when my dad was alive (so we had enough players) I wish I got to play more...

This sounds like a really fun cast, i love groups of people who do not want to be here but bond anyway loll!!

There are so many ways grief can manifest in people, especially children, so there are lots of options! You may not even need a person/physical villain? If that makes sense? I mean if it's an actual played campaign the yeah probably, but if it's a written story there's options...

Also this blog is for anything not battlecats so yeah here is good! I don't post here very often thougghhh

[xavalav]

wanna tell me more about your dnd characters?

ALWAYS!!!!!!!! hi hello i love yapping abt my dnd characters it's my favorite pastime. i've got two main characters i'm playing rn!! the first i made at the start of last semester and the second i just made this past week :]

my first character is athanasius scyre. he is my skrungle who i put in horrible situations and shake around like a dog toy. he is an abyssal tiefling divine soul sorcerer who is so fucking weird about everything. he's like if you took an unethical scientist and gave him religious trauma about it. i like him a lot a lot a lot, he's genuinely one of my fav characters i've ever created. his whole deal is that basically, he was born into a family with of a long line of divine soul sorcerers on his dad's side. but due to world events, their power had waned significantly and his powers never really naturally came in. but then he got kidnapped by a cult! and used as a guinea pig! yippee!!

the cult was fairly disappointed he couldn't actually use his powers and spent a while trying to coax him into using his powers before moving onto trying to force him to use his powers. this culminated in a ritual meant to unlock his divine bloodline that ultimately worked, but there was a rebound and in the aftermath he had been transformed into an abyssal tiefling with little to no memory of who or what he was before. he spent the next few years being controlled and molded by the cult into a fucked up little freak with no baseline morals. he grew into the perfect image of a divine savior willing to do anything for his 'family', including dying to ascend to godhood.

all good things must come to an end tho, and eventually he hits a wall where he can't seem to be able move past it. his powers stall which doesn't make the cult too happy, and they end up pushing him further and further until one day it ends in an explosive confrontation where he fears for his life. he closes his eyes and mutters a prayer and when he opens his eyes again his parents are dead, the room is on fire, his hands and forearms are burnt, and his staff is nothing but ash. he managed to escape the inferno with a few scrolls and his life, running as far away as he could.

that is like. that main gist of his backstory before he went to magic school and got even sillier. he's currently investigating an eldritch god killer named "the eye" who is haunting his dreams right now and making him paranoid as hell. he's also developed a fear of dying which is new for him and he is not happy abt that. he doesn't really appreciate not being able to just jump into things head first with 0 fear anymore but dw, he will experience more horrors also learning that he enjoys having friends and is willing to do anything for them!!

if you wanna see me yap more abt athanasius or see what he looks like, this tag is where i put original posts and art abt him and this tag is where is put reblogs that make me think of him. also this is a spotify playlist i made for him that i listen to a lot :)

myyyy second character is named micah castelle. they are a grave domain cleric vampire in the desert. they are not having the best time bc. well. gestures to The Sun. but they're mostly chillin. i don't have a complete backstory thought up for them rn but i’m working with the thread that they are a grave domain cleric, and clerics of that domain hate undead while they themselves are undead. i really love characters that are walking contradictions or that have some kind of dichotomy within themselves (see athanasius: divine soul sorcerer that is an abyssal tiefling) so i really wanna hone in on that particular point of their character bc i think it’s fun and can leas to some very tasty characterization later in the campaign. right now i’m thinking they died or were on the brink of death and was made a vampire through the request of someone close to them rather than them getting kidnapped or stolen away like a lot of vampire stories go. but this is not concrete and could change in the future, just a fun idea i had that i wanted to explore w my dm.

i will also mention that i partly based them on a quote from the movie good fellas “there’s a lot of holes in the desert, and a lot of problems buried in those holes” cause i thought it would be funny. and i was right micah is very sillay. but their general design is that they are based off of the undertaker trope from western films. they have a shovel that they both use to dig graves and hit people over the head with, and they are surprisingly strong and charismatic for a cleric (their stats are way better than athanasius’ lmao). they also have a big hat with a veil, a long coat, and thick gloves. partly bc even in the desert, they are still cold, and partly bc if the sun manages to even get a peak at them they are so done for.

thank youuuuu for letting me yap!! i love yapping i am the dnd oc yapper :)) but seriously thank you i always love talking abt my ocs, they are genuinely something that i am really proud of designing and writing and really excited to continue evolving them.